In Celebration of Obesity

The lift-man gauged me with his stare and pointed to the service elevator, a little way down the corridor. “That’s the one we use to transport heavy-weights,” he said matter-of-factly before proceeding to shut the cage door of the elevator.

My expressions changed from one of surprise, to dismay, to anger! What the hell, I wanted to scream out loud but checked myself, aware of the surroundings around me. It was a hospital and the decorum prevented people from shouting out loud, no matter how painful or hurtful the situation might be. However, my heart refused to be cowed down and directed by it my eyes sought to pin the lift-man with a cold gaze, which seemed to tell him,

“What do you think yourself to be- A Joker of some sort?”

“If so go and join a circus team. Why come to the civilised world in search of a living? And who the hell are you to call me heavy-weight? Do you realise its similar to a racist or sexist slur? In the land of milk and honey-USA-the law prevents anyone from classifying anyone below 18 years of age into the obese or fat category, simply because of a possible psychological impact on the mind of the person!”

However, this is not USA and neither did I fall into the below 18 category. As I took to the stairs, I was painfully aware of the fact that this man possessed some hidden talent by means of which he had come to know what transpired between me and the doctor inside his chamber? The doctor had been particularly rude to me today, I thought. I agreed that he had reasons to be frustrated with me. After all, which doctor wants an independent minded, all-knowing person as his/her patient? A doctor is like an advisor, someone who always has the well-being of the patient in his/her mind. Till the last visit, my doctor had behaved very patiently with me. Always advising me on the various precautions to take and the medicines that need to be taken. He had even taken pains to give me positive strokes by saying that the effort given by me to reduce my weight was laudable and very soon I will be seeing good results! He had even increased the frequency of my checkup from 3 months to 6 months so that I could make a more noticeable change for the better.

“Nothing will please me more than to see you walk into my chamber with a spring in your step, Mr Dutta”, he had remarked during my last visit.

Alas, who had known then that things would go from bad to worse? The extra three months gap had made me live life like never before! Its not my fault actually. Blame it all on the hard work that I put in at the office every day. Well, once the day dawned to an end and it was time to tread back home, the stomach had growled to remind how hungry it was! Then the road from my office passed alongside a pub that had the word “BEER” in bright neon colours looking down on me every time I passed by. Of course, I never drank beer, knowing how it played havoc with my tonsils and my throat. It was always whisky for me to drown the day’s sorrow. How beautiful the golden liquid looked as I swirled the stirrer occasionally, allowing the ice to melt. Then the ice melted and the colour changed from a deep golden to a lighter one, as if the rays of the setting sun got reflected from the surface of the sea, just like I had witnessed at Kanyakumari! Then there was that lovely smoky taste mixed with that of some half burnt fruits that lingered in the mouth. The warmth of the liquid seemed to cleanse away all the dreadful tiredness of the day as it travelled down my throat. The first peg went down with a snap of the fingers and had me shouting for a quick refill. The second one also didn’t take much time to vanish and by that time my heart had begun ask for more ( Yeh Dil Maange More!). With alcohol coursing in my veins, the world always took on a brighter hue and one tended to immediately agree with Bertie Wooster in his conviction about “Birds in heaven and all right with the world”.

Amidst all this feel good factor, one usually forgot about the liver’s dislike towards alcohol and its more than extra efforts put in to cleanse the body of the alcohol, thereby generating cholesterol. With not much effort being made to burn down those cholesterol, pounds and kilos began to get added with each passing day till I reached this stage where even people who knew from a moment ago, found me offensively obese! Which doctor would tolerate this?

As I walked down the stairs, I wondered whether I should be feeling guilty or sorry for myself? After all, my pride had been hurt. Once the soccer star of the school and now an overweight, rotund middle-aged individual who was refused admission into an elevator?

As I walked down the steps and was nearing the ground floor, I noticed a sort of commotion near the corner of the hospital opposite to the door. The security guards were all huddled together in a group while the receptionist was furiously jabbing the buttons of the telephone in front of her and shouting at the top of her voice. There was a aged gentleman wearing a tie, whom I presumed to be somehow connected to the hospital administration, who was frantically gesticulating in an attempt to make the person on the other end of his mobile phone understand. In short, there was utter chaos on the ground floor of the hospital. Irrespective of the notices all around asking visitors to maintain discipline and silence, people were shouting and talking in loud voices. As I hastened my steps, I directed a query to the first person whom I met at the bottom of the flight of stairs. From this person, I heard the story of how the wires of the elevator had snapped on its way down and the carriage had come crashing down. There were people trapped inside the carriage and efforts were being made to rescue those trapped inside. No, there was no idea of the number of casualties yet.

Appalled at this piece of news, I realised that had it not been for the boorish comments of the lift-man, even I would have ended up being part of the accident!

I walked out of the hospital and decided to head for the nearest bar to celebrate my obesity!